


drag the waters till the depths give up their dead (what did you expect to find?)

by secretfeanorian



Series: the worst things in life come free to us [17]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: elven ruins, ruins of Rivendell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2192652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretfeanorian/pseuds/secretfeanorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was it something you left behind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	drag the waters till the depths give up their dead (what did you expect to find?)

_like a time, a place, a shattered memory, for me it’s more than I can seem to handle, it’s the pain. my mind is writing on the walls.  
_

* * *

Maglor hadn’t meant to stumble across this particular hill. But when he kicks the ground and by doing so, eventually unearths a rusted sword, he’s frozen in place.  
  
It has been several months since Maglor had completely left civilization and he’s found himself somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He thinks he’s probably somewhere in Montana.  
  
When his feet catches on something in the hill, he stops and looks down, as if trying to locate the offending object. He sees an incredibly faint glimmer of dull metal and bends down to have a closer look. After a few minutes of looking, he finds the piece of metal and pulls on it. It, however, remains firmly stuck to the ground. Maglor pulls on it fruitlessly for another minute or so, then leans back on his heels.  
  
A thought crosses his mind and he digs at the ground around the metal he can see. After a quarter hour or so of digging, the object is free of its earthy prison and the moment he gets a good look at it, it goes clattering to the ground. He stares at it, hands trembling and heart pounding, until he manages to steady his hands.  
  
Only when they are steady again does he bend down to retrieve the ancient weapon. The carvings on it have faded away to nothing, but somehow he still recognizes it. Or, maybe not the individual sword, but he recognizes the design.  
  
He holds in his hands an elven sword, definitely one of Noldorian craftsmanship. He almost drops it again and leaves it where it lies, but something prompts him to carry it with him for the next few miles he travels.  
  
He’s not sure how long it’s been or how far he’s walked when he does drop it. It hands in a bush and disappears from sight. Maglor only hesitates for a few heartbeats before he turns his back on the bush and keeps walking.  
  
He doesn’t suddenly start finding elven relics scattered about the wilderness, but two weeks after his discovery, he stumbles on an ancient staircase, the design of which seems vaguely familiar. It takes him a few hours to reach the end of the pathway and there isn’t much awaiting him at that end. There is enough, however, for him to recognize it as an elven settlement. He stands in what appears to be the center of the tiny, ancient village for a few hours before he moves.  
  
When he does move, it’s only because he thinks he hears something coming toward him through the trees. He tenses and one hand goes for the dagger on his hip. A deer bounds into sight, sees him, pauses to watch him, and then continues on its way.  
  
Maglor relaxes and turns to stare at the practically non-existent buildings for another few minutes and then he leaves them behind, following the pathway back the way he had come. That’s the end of that.  
  
Except it really isn’t.  
  
It’s another two weeks later and Maglor has definitely left Montana (if that was where he had been in the first place), but he has no idea where he is now. Not that he cares. Wherever he is, he’s found himself in the middle of a fairly thick forest and he’s so busy keeping an eye out for tree roots and branches that he almost misses the carving on a rock resting very low on the ground, almost completely shrouded by vegetation.  
  
He doesn’t miss it however and so he slowly bends down to have a look. He brushes back the vines from the face of the rock and stares at the carving. He doesn’t **recognize** it exactly, but it still seems familiar.  
  
After a few minutes of squatting by the rock, he stands back up and keeps walking, now keeping a slightly closer eye on the rocks he passes. Within 500 feet, he sees a second carving. This one seems even more familiar and the longer he looks at it, the clearer it becomes as to why. He’s not yet sure enough to even think the possibility, but his subconscious is still whispering it.  
  
It takes him another few hours to find anything beyond faded carving on easily overlooked stones, but after those few hours, the stones lead him to a hidden valley that he has never seen before, but he knows what he has found the minute he sets foot in the valley.  
  
“Imladris…” He whispers and is frozen in some unidentifiable emotion (horror, shock, fear, joy) for a few brief moments before another unidentifiable emotion (excitement, joy, eagerness, curiosity) propels him forward. It takes him a fair amount of time spent searching to locate a path down into the valley and the one he does find is small, steep, and overgrown. He picks his way down it very carefully and it takes him another hour or so to make his way to the bottom of the valley.  
  
The plants are overgrown and the rivers are swollen, but the bridge remains intact, even if the water is lapping at and over the edges. Maglor walks across it and stops. He doesn’t know what he’d been looking for and he isn’t sure if he found it, but he definitely found something. Beyond “Rivendell”, however, he doesn’t know what that something is.  
  
Most of the city has fallen off or collapsed and Maglor has to pick his way through the ruins very carefully to avoid the whole place coming down around. The only building that remains even partially intact is the Hall of Fire. The doorway hasn’t fallen apart yet, though the great doors themselves have rotted away into nothing visible.  
  
There are many holes in the ceiling and dust lies everywhere. The Hall may remain intact, technically speaking, but it’s been eroded away enough that even had Maglor seen it during the Second or Third Age, he still wouldn’t recognize it by _its_ appearance alone.  
  
He doesn’t venture farther into the hall and instead leaves it behind entirely.  
  
He finds where the courtyard would’ve stood and stares at the one remaining statue. There are a few others, but they are either in pieces or have been weathered away to the point where they look nothing like they used to. For some, both is the case.  
  
The one surviving statue seems quite a bit newer than all the others and it seems out of place among the decayed ruins, as if it had been placed there after the city had begun to fall into disrepair. It also would’ve been blocking traffic in and out through the courtyard had it stood there when Rivendell was still inhabited.  
  
Maglor can make out of the forms of the statue – it too has been worn, but not quite as much as the others. A man and a woman stand locked in an eternal dance and the realization comes to Maglor abruptly. The statue must be of Arwen and Aragorn.  
  
He gets a lump in his throat as he thinks about it. He can remember when he first heard the news that Sauron was defeated and that the returned king of Gondor was to be wed to the daughter of Elrond. At first (and for the first) he was joyful. But then; Elrond’s daughter.  
  
Elrond would lose his daughter as he had lost his brother: all too soon and permanently. At the time, he had almost gone to speak to Elrond, but at the last minute decided against it and fled the city.  
  
In the present day, Maglor stares at the forms and flinches when he feels a tear land on the back of his hand. He looks down at it and then reaches up to touch his face. All of the sudden, he shudders violently; once, twice, three times. Then he buried his face in his hands, but he doesn’t cry. He just breathes deeply; in and out, in and out.  
  
He stays there for a very long time and when he next looks up, it is dark and the stars are shining, lighting up the valley a tiny bit. He half wants to leave the remnant of Rivendell behind, but the other half of him knows that if he could even find the path back up out of the valley (which, he actually probably could), it would be foolish to attempt to climb it now.  
  
So instead, he sits down, still facing the statue and brings his knees to his chest. He doesn’t say anything and the not-quite-silence filling the ruined city feels wrong, but there’s nothing he can do to fill the silence.  
  
Except…  
  
Maglor opens his mouth and for a few moments, his voice trembles. But then it grows steadier and Rivendell is once again filled with song.  
  
(Not quite, but there is song drifting throughout the valley and that will have to be enough)


End file.
